


red alert, this vessel's under seige

by nigiyakapepper



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, Street fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigiyakapepper/pseuds/nigiyakapepper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hibari watches Yamamoto Takeshi during baseball practice and remembers an afternoon they spent together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red alert, this vessel's under seige

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 [yamahiba_fest](http://yamahiba-fest.livejournal.com/) at Livejournal. Title is from [The Walk](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbMNjEX6tKM) by Imogen Heap.

Summer.

Too hot for classes, Hibari Kyouya thought as he looked out the window of the Student Disciplinary Office, the bend of his arm cushioning his chin and the aluminum grooves of the window ledge marking his skin with deep, red lines.

It was five in the afternoon and he didn't feel like going home yet, despite skipping an entire day's worth of school in a fit of impulsiveness that struck fear in those who knew him.

Simply put, he wasn't in the mood for anything. Moving was too cumbersome and so was thinking. A few hours ago, he felt like the intense heat was going to melt him like ice cream under the sun. At least it was cooler now. He tried rolling over as a cat would and almost slipped out of his swivel chair.

The metallic thwack of ball hitting bat echoed in the still air. Hibari turned to look at the on-going practice of the Namimori Middle School's baseball team, which he'd never admit to have been absently watching for the past couple of hours.

Even from the third floor, he had an unnervingly good view...

...of Yamamoto Takeshi.

He wasn't even the team captain. Just some useless member who ran around a lot and made an unsightly spectacle of himself with the way his jersey was dark with sweat, dirt and

  
  
  


Blood.

It belonged to neither of them. It was on their fists, their clothes and the faces of those they had punched the living daylights out of.

This wasn't any sort of massacre akin to those they would orchestrate in their futures as mafioso. This was an average street fight against an average bunch of gangster wannabes. This was average, juvenile fun.

Though _how_ Yamamoto ended up fighting with him was beyond Hibari.

He supposed they were on the same route home, much like how a boyfriend happens to see his girlfriend carrying lots of groceries and says 'Oh hello dear, let me help you with that'. But unlike pubescent couples who'd probably chitchat on the way, they hardly exchanged a word.

Hibari wasn't annoyed, only vaguely disturbed with the way he'd heat up every time his back met with Yamamoto's before they'd relaunch themselves into the fray. The guy was uncannily reliable—whenever Hibari would duck down to aim at someone's shins, Yamamoto would deliver a fierce uppercut and send the poor whoever flying into another comrade before slamming against the back alley wall.

They worked silently, effortlessly, tirelessly, like perfect mechanisms in a well-oiled machine. The sky was bronze by the time every last street punk had either run away in fright or was rendered unconscious. Out of the corner of his eye, Hibari saw Yamamoto wipe the blood off the side of his mouth with a satisfied sigh, as if he'd finished a good round of exercise. His polo was dirty, rumpled and torn at the hemline. There were wounds on his knuckles and a triumphant gleam in his eye. Hibari began to wonder if this look suited him more, if all this meant something.

"So uh..." Yamamoto began clumsily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Want to go somewhere?"

On any other day, Hibari would have scoffed and left him, but instead he said, "Like?"

"Dunno...the beach."

It was too far for a bike ride and neither of them drove a car yet, so they took the train.

It wasn't full. Not at that hour, not yet. They tried not to sit too close to each other. They still looked like shit and stank of blood, sweat and outdoors. The sun was behind them, coloring everything gold. The rhythmic rattling of the train beneath their feet felt like a lullaby and Hibari couldn't remember when he fell asleep.

The next thing he knew, there was a relentless sea breeze on his face and Yamamoto was looking more than pleased about something (which Hibari pointedly ignored after hearing the guy drop a remark about his shoulder being sore).

The tides were coming in and no one was on the beach save for the two of them. Feeling acutely uncomfortable with the way Yamamoto's gaze was on him, Hibari rolled up his pants, took off his shoes and socks, held them and walked along the shore.

The shallow prints he made on the fine, packed sand disappeared with the waves.

'Why are you here?' Hibari could have asked, to which Yamamoto would have answered with something stupid like 'I came with you' or 'No reason' or 'You look like you needed help' followed by a moronic laugh thus affirming the grocery theory and earning him a punch. He'd had enough punching for the day, so he kept quiet, but that didn't quell the unwanted curiosity squirming in his stomach.

The quick kiss on the lips Yamamoto gave him after a few minutes didn't help either.

Needless to say, Hibari went home by himself, marching off and leaving a dazed Yamamoto eating dirt.

  
  
  


"Ah. I knew a kitty was spying on me today."

Hibari turned around and saw that Yamamoto had let himself in his office. He was wearing his uniform earlier than day and his hair was still wet from the showers.

Baseball practice was over. Hibari shut the window.

"You have no business being here."

"But I do," Yamamoto said cheerfully. "I came to file a complaint. Your hot gaze distracted me so much, I got yelled at by the coach."

Hibari fixed him an unreadable stare, but the way he sat on his swivel chair was anything but closed off.

"I want you to take responsibility," Yamamoto approached, still smiling and straddled him.

Hibari got annoyed at the way his hands immediately slid up to Yamamoto's waist, holding him in place. "Show me the specific clauses in the handbook and I'll consider it," he replied, looking up at him.

Yamamoto smirked and bent down to kiss him. Hibari let it slide. Just for today. Moving was too cumbersome and so was thinking.

**END**


End file.
